Together We Live Forever
by former-burning-example
Summary: There comes a time when the only thing left to do is to wing it. To pull something out of left field and use it because it's not like it can get any worse. Like now, for example. Two-shot. Rizzles. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: With this one, I'm gonna jump on the bandwagon that left like six months ago and try out a bucket list fic. Recently a one-shot about bucket lists was published, and I sincerely did not mean to be writing about the same topic as the other person in such a close measure of time... It's just kinda how it turned out. I don't mean to step on any toes.**_

 _ **Also It switches point of view about a fifth of the way in, but I think it's pretty clear.**_

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.

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Fully knowing Jane's past should have made her hesitate. Should have made her stop and think of the repercussions. The detective is not delicate. Not weak or feeble by any means. The both of them surround themselves with death daily, so why? Why should she have stopped to consider Jane's feelings?

Well... to create a bucket list sprouts two new problems.

The first: to compile a list of tasks to complete before death acknowledges the fact that one _will_ actually die. Now, that shouldn't be a surprise to anyone. Everyone dies at some point. Yes, everyone else dies. But certainly not Jane. Death is not a sensitive subject with the detective- that is unless it's _her own_ death. Then she screws herself up so tight and hardens herself against the world.

Jane is immortal.

Or at least they let her believe it. The other detectives and police officers. They make her feel as if she cannot die. Like her hail Marys aren't nerve-wracking and crazy dangerous. Her line of work gives her the excuse to never stop and think of her own mortality...

And the second: there's always the issue of not finishing the list. In their line of work- especially Jane's- tomorrow isn't exactly promised. People are dangerous. It's as simple as that. Well... so simple in theory, but brought into real life, a plethora of complexities that have no business being explored are revealed.

But as she types out the last item on her list, she shudders and deletes it, deciding it far too revealing. The cursor blinks at her, ready for the replacement item, but there isn't one. At least... she can't think of a better one.

There _isn't_ a better one.

She types it out again, shakes her head, and deletes it. It's too much, or it's not enough. Too trite. Too concise. Too completely and utterly unrealistic and far-fetched. What on earth is she thinking?

After ten more minutes of contemplative re-typing and erasing, she finally prints the list and stows it away in her purse until the next time her path crosses with the detective's.

.

Only things are never as easy as they are when you're starting out.

Halfway through the day she pulls the list out of her purse and adds that burning last item in pen, sealing it to the paper for all eternity. Maura Isles is not one to scratch out mistakes with the slash of a ballpoint pen.

Taking a breath, she holds up the list and smiles. It's perfect.

Until five more seconds pass, and suddenly her elegant script depicting the only item on the list that matters seems like too far a reach. Half a minute later if one were close enough, they could hear the doctor's disheartened sigh intermingled with the smell of white-out drying.

And then twenty minutes later she's rewriting it atop the dried paste, assuring herself over and over again that this is the last time. And it is... until she twists open the little bottle of white-out again and puts herself right back at square one.

List ruined, she crumples it up and pushes her face into her hands. Frustration is not common to the doctor. It feels out of place somehow.

She knows what she wants, but is she ready to take the leap? And now of all times? They've built their unique relationship in the span of five years. At this point it's nearly impossible to imagine a life without Jane. Her place in the doctor's life feels more than permanent.

What if she ruins everything?

What started out as seemingly harmless attraction half a decade prior has grown tremendously without any real attention paid. The smiles and brushes and "Here, I got you a coffee"s. The teasing and the jokes. And, god, the nights. The nights they wordlessly agreed to stay with one another, sleeping in close proximity, inducing dangerous thoughts of 'what if you were mine?'

 _'Yes, Jane. We are having a sleepover. And yes, this is my way of telling you that I'm attracted to you.'_

The nights she swore Jane _knew._ She _had_ to know. And yet... Nothing. No first move. No mention of _anything._ Not even a knowing smile. Nothing.

How can a person survive on nothing?

...

Jane smooths out the creases in her own bucket list on her desk a floor above the troubled doctor. Earlier she'd scribbled out her ideas on a carelessly torn-out piece of yellow legal paper.

They were out there. Certainly things she knew she could never convince Maura into trying. Things like hang-gliding or the next Tough Mudder. But what else was she supposed to put?

It is, after all, _her_ list.

But the longer she looks at it, the more unrealistic it becomes. She could never complete everything she's listed. Not in a full lifetime had she started years ago. Not now. Not ever. The impossibilities in life are at times depressing, and those few things you can can do, well... they're _boring._

She could revise it. Spend another hour googling less extreme activities. She really could. She could have the whole list rewritten by the next time she crossed paths with her favorite medical examiner.

She runs her finger over the last task on the list, smiling a little at the thought. That one... that one could stay. She'd written the list entirely for Maura's benefit. All excited and unbelievably adorable, Maura could get her to do just about anything... including making a checklist of cheap thrills to complete before death comes knocking.

Only this last item... it isn't like the others. By no means is it any more realistic... it's just... She _wants_ it more.

No. It's too much. It'll never happen.

She grabs her pen to cross it out and banish it to the scholastic hell that occurs when one scribbles with far too much vigor. But something stops her. Maybe it was something in those consonants that ensnared her. Or maybe it was just that capital _M_ that stole her heart years ago.

How would Maura react? That was the real question. The _real_ important question- on some level she corrects herself. _'Well, I hate when you forget Mr. Adverb.'_ So the real _ly_ important question, rather.

Would she be offended? Appalled? No, it's just not possible. Maura is... well... Maura is _Maura._ She's full of love and ever-present informational tangents. But hey, it's not all bad. The detective knows more about norepinephrine and the laws of quantum mechanics than she ever wanted to know. A negative reaction seems unnatural.

Would she laugh it off like nothing but a joke between friends? Would she disappear completely?

Jane lowers her pen back to her desk and folds the list a few times over. What would Maura think of this flagrant guessing-game? She shoves it into her pocket and tries her best not to fish it out again and disintegrate her courage.

.

The day passes without excuse to go downstairs.

But her list is on fire in her pocket. If given the night to mull it over, come tomorrow there won't be a list at all. And that's not happening. Not if she can help it.

Normally, she'd walk right into Maura's office. It's like her home in that way. Open. Sort of like Maura herself. But today feels like a knocking sort of day. Or maybe it's just a stalling tactic.

She can feel it already. The nerves. The urge to walk away before it's too late. Before Maura sees her. Before she can't run away. She knocks twice, all but startling the blond behind her desk.

"Jane?" Confused. Probably wondering why the detective felt the need to knock.

"Um, hey."

"Are you alright?" Concerned, she closes her laptop and stands. "Is there something wrong."

"I... uh. No. I'm fine. I was just... never mind. It's not important."

But Maura's a genius- to be completely honest, it wouldn't take a one to sense something's amiss. Her eyes travel to the detectives hand, a look of curiosity crossing her fine features.

"What's in your hand?"

No backing out now.

"You said I should make a bucket list, so..."

The blond smiles brightly. She reaches her hands out, eager. "Ooh, let me see!"

Jane holds the paper out of her best friend's reach, "Nope. Not until you give me yours."

Maura shoulders slump ever so slightly and with them her smile fades. She twists her fingers together at her stomach, training her eyes on the floor. "I don't have mine."

"Then you're not getting mine," Jane almost snaps. It comes out just a bit to sharp, and she hates it. Sometimes that happens. She doesn't mean it, but controlling the intensity and sting of her comments has never been easy for her.

"I mean... I _had_ it earlier..."

"What happened to it?"

"I... uh..."

It's then when Jane notices the white smudges on her fingertips and the tell-tale bottle of white-out perched on her desk. It seems the doctor has been doing some erasure of her own.

The only question is why?

What did she think needed to be removed?

"You threw it away?"

Maura nods, trapping her bottom lips beneath her teeth for just a second before remembering what a terrible habit it is. "I did."

"Why?"

She shrugs and then flinches. Her chest rises and falls a half second too early, signifying her quickened breathing. It's all tell-tale. Maura is a walking lie detector... for herself. A lie. Maura lied to her. But why?

"Maur? Are you alright?"

"Yes... I think so."

A silence stretches out in the air between them. Jane stiffens, insanely uncomfortable with the fact that they are _not comfortable_ with each other. It's been years since the air felt so stale and strange.

What the hell was on her list?

"Do you remember anything on it?" she asks, trying to lighten the mood.

The doctor nods and curls her fingers together once more, "Um yes... I put 'Attend Paris Fashion Week.'"

"Really?" Sarcastic. But just the right amount. If she could just get her to smile. To laugh. Anything!

"You don't like that idea?"

"Not really... What else did you put?"

"Tour the Catacombs of Paris."

Jane shrugs, "We're around death enough already."

"Oh." And with that single discouraged syllable, Jane's heart sinks into her stomach. What's happening to them? It's always so light and easy. What's changed?

She glances down at the folded paper in her hands. The culprits, she decides, are these damn lists. It was a good idea while still in the hypothetical stage, but now all they're learning is just how different they are. And the idea that opposites attract is utter bullshit in this moment.

"What's on your list?" Maura asks, hopeful.

Jane runs her thumb over the crinkled paper. She'd swapped drag racing for ice-skating and skydiving with leaning how to make ravioli. She made them all realistic. Possible. All but one. The last one. The only one that matters.

There comes a time when the only thing left to do is to wing it. To pull something out of left field and use it because it's not like it can get any worse. Like now, for example.

She extends her arm out, holding the yellow wad of paper out like an offering.

"But I don't have my list."

"S'okay. You can give it to me some other time."

"But-"

"Just take it, Maur."

"Okay, okay," The blond gingerly takes the paper from her. "Are you happy now?"

She is not. It seems they've reached another pause. What is it with them tonight?

"Are you gonna read it or what?"

"I will... I just..."

"What?"

Maura sighs, "I wanted this to be something we did together. I feel like we've been too busy for each other lately."

"Why didn't you just say so?" Jane asks, taking a seat at the edge of the doctor's desk. She feels her heart clench in her chest at seeing the sadness taking hold of her best friend. "I would've made time. You know that, right?"

"I know... I didn't want to bother you. You had your case..."

"Is that what you think? That you bother me?" She keeps her voice soft, knowing full well that now is _not_ the right time to joke. "Maura, you're my best friend. You could never bother me."

The blond looks unsure of what to say or do next. It's moments like these when Jane remembers Maura's short history of past friendships. She simply doesn't know what to do.

"Hey," Jane says, putting a hand on Maura's shoulder. Her first instinct is to wrap her arms around the woman and reassure her over and over again until the truth is ingrained in both their heads. The detective is not a hugger, but she'd forget all about that if it meant comforting her friend. But she stops herself, knowing Maura has never liked to be hugged when she's upset.

"Hey," she repeats, hoping to attach as much comfort to her words as possible. Maura's the best person she's ever known. "Maur-"

She's cut short as Maura steps forward and pushes into her chest, arms wrapping tight around her shoulders. It's takes Jane the span of one second to realize what's happening. But just as quickly as it began, Maura pulls away.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's okay."

She glances at her watch and frowns, "I should go. Bass hasn't eaten since this morning."

"Breakfast tomorrow?"

A hint of a smile. There she is. "Of course." She grabs her purse off her desk, giving Jane one last genuine smile before heading for the door. "Oh, and Jane?"

"Yeah?"

"Um," she takes in a breath as if gathering courage. "My list... it's in the wastebasket beneath my desk. Just, um... Wait until I'm gone, please."

.

Jane waits about five minutes after they say their final goodbyes before she sinks into Maura's chair. The list isn't difficult to find, and when she gets her hands on it, it feels like she's holding a red-hot coal.

She can't help but picture Maura unfolding her list out in her car, or maybe thinking about nothing else as she waits until she gets home. That's how it should have gone. Both of them at Maura's house, some fancy wine, laughing at each other's nonsensical hopes and dreams.

Instead, she's alone in Maura's office about to read something she feels like she shouldn't be reading. It does not escape her that this is _not_ ideal. But what could she do?

She flattens the paper out on Maura's desk, smoothing over the wrinkles with her palms. Wreckage aside, it's typed and perfectly aligned with a border and everything. So very _Maura_. The corners of her mouth tug upwards. This is the kind of thing she should be light-heartedly teasing Maura about right now. They should be together.

Jane stops then, startled by the thought. It seemed to come out of nowhere, but it just fit in place like the last piece of a puzzle left unfinished for years. Brush off the dust. Good as new.

She finally brings herself to read the first item on the list.

Of course it was the fashion week one. It is, after all, Maura's list, and if there's one thing Maura loves more than stomach contents and her pet tortoise, it's clothes. It was one of those things Jane resented when they first met. She didn't understand why her work attire absolutely needed a pair if Jimmy Choos or Prada or Chanel or _whatever._

But now she's grown to love it. To _look forward_ to it. What would she come up with next? Pantsuits. Dresses. Skirts. The occasional pair of perfect jeans. It was all so very endearing.

Other days intriguing. But always fascinating.

She reads through the rest of the list finding museums and art galleries located mostly in Europe. It's 'Maura' in a list essentially. High class and tasteful.

But then she sees it.

The mess at the very bottom of the list just below _'Visit the Museum of Antiquities in Leiden.'_ She would never have noticed it had this list not been something of Maura's. A perfectionist. The doctor must have driven herself crazy with the splotches and smears.

She runs her index finger over the raised patches of white paste, trying to see what Maura saw hours before. The smaller woman had changed her mind and covered her elegant handwriting at least half a dozen times. And with each attempt Jane could see her desperation coming into play.

She began to use less and less white paste, progressively becoming less and less careful with just how well she buried her words. On one line she could easily make out _'Tell Jane._ ' By the last one, a mere strip of white bisects her words, hiding them about as well as a telephone pole could hide an elephant.

And as her eyes travel across the words, her jaw falls slack. The air seems to vanish for the room as she reads those five little words over and over and over again. The raw emotion Maura must have felt writing this list- taking a chance- Jane can see all of it in the shaky script bordering the bottom of the page.

It can't be real.

There's no way two lists so _completely_ different could manage to find one common ground.

Jane rubs her eyes and reads over the words one last time, something new bubbling up in her chest. A smile twitches at her lips as she shakes her head reading it again.

It's real.

 _'Tell Jane...'_

She folds it up and tucks it into her pocket. Grabbing her keys, she leaves Maura's office, a new spring in her step. She steps into the elevator alone, Maura's words swirling around in her head.

 _'Tell Jane...'_

She leans back against the wall in the elevator, not even the least bit irritated with the molasses-like speed of the closing doors. Content, she decides. She feels content and eager. As if tomorrow morning could not come fast enough.

 _'Tell Jane I love her.'_

 _._

 _._

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 _ **A/N: I think maybe a two-shot. Or I could leave it here. What do you guys think?**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: So here's part two. I hope I did a good job. This was a nice little break from the other long fic I'm currently writing (or neglecting.) Thank you to everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed!_**

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Maybe it wasn't Jane she was worried about.

Thinking about it now, knelt down on the floor beside Bass might not be the best of times, but better now than alone in the dark of her bedroom. All alone with her thoughts... she shudders at the very idea.

She offers Bass a strawberry- not just any strawberry, but the very one she's been offering him for the past half hour. And it's certainly not because he's already full. No... not at all. She's not using her pet as a distraction. No... that would be...

That would be...

Exactly what she's doing.

Maura sighs and leans back against the cabinets, turning the strawberry over in her hands. It's not Bass' fault he couldn't distract her forever, she just wishes he had a bigger appetite.

She glances down at him a little thrown-off to find his head still peeking out of his shell. Leaning forward, she drums her fingers gently on the top of his shell, smiling as his head lifts.

"You're awfully friendly tonight. What's got into you?"

Lately, she's noticed he hasn't moved about her home much. He's confined himself to the kitchen and hallway. She believes it's largely because of her mother's last visit. Constance had nearly tripped over him three times and once squashed his hind foot with the toe of her stiletto. Not intentionally, of course. Her mother just wasn't accustomed to living with a tortoise.

"You're not scared are you? No?" she signs again, "Then I guess it's just me... You know what I did tonight, Bass?"

She pauses for a moment, then remembers a second too late that he cannot actually speak.

"I may have ruined everything with Jane."

The tortoise stares blankly at her before slowly pushing himself backwards. Out of her reach. Her jaw drops slightly as she just watches him walk away from her.

"Bass?"

But he's having none of it. It takes a few seconds, but he finally manages to disappear around the island, effectively sealing himself out of her view. She groans and leans her head back, deciding he's right not to want to hear about it. She messed up. That's that.

Still, has Jane read it yet? Could she even make out the words? Did she even bother to take it from the trash? Questions. Questions. She could go on for days. Bass was right to get away while he could. She traces a circle over the seed-covered surface of the strawberry still in her hands with her thumb, clinging to the small hope that her bucket list is still in her trash bin.

 _'Tell Jane I love her.'_

It's true. Staggeringly so, and to admit it to herself, let alone Jane? Well, that may be the bravest thing she's ever done- that is, if Jane even bothered to fish the list out of the trash. It's been difficult enough to get a read on the brunette lately, and maybe this is the last thing either of them needed.

Jane's the best friend she's ever had. To lose her... she cannot begin imagine how that would feel.

 _'Tell Jane I love her.'_

She wanted to say it. Ideally, they'd be together right now, halfway into their wine glasses, half through their lists. She'd slip it in casually like she always does. _'I love you, Jane.'_ Only this time only she'd know just how much she meant it. Jane would probably roll her eyes and laugh it off as just the wine talking. But Maura would know the truth, and that would be enough.

Not much, but enough.

A person could live on 'enough.'

.

The doctor stumbles through her- usually methodical- nightly routine, emerging from the bathroom wired rather than sleepy. Knowing she could sleep even if she tried, she makes her way back out into the kitchen and begins to throw together something of a fruit salad. In the back of her mind she registers that her sleep cycle is going to take a hit from tonight.

Sleep cycle be damned.

She's in love with her best friend.

Even as a thought bouncing around in her head, the words shoot through her skeleton like some kind of organic electricity. The idea is so completely irrational, she nearly laughs at herself. Maybe it's the hour.

Without much thought at all, she systematically cuts slices of banana and cubes on cantaloupe to add to her makeshift fruit salad. And since Bass doesn't seem to have any interest in his specially-ordered British strawberries, she adds those in too. Humming to herself, she begins to find something of a pattern without realizing it. But in a moment of sudden, strong clarity, Maura pauses, knife mid-slice, the thought hurdling back to her.

She's in love with her best friend.

So what?

There's nothing she can do about it that she hasn't already done. Up until today, she'd tried everything from subtle hints to shameless flirting. Jane's just so... so...

Her hand clenches, banishing the poor strawberry that happened to be in it to fruit hell. The juice leaks down her wrist. For a moment she feels as if she should weep for it.

"Come on, Maura," she mutters to herself, shaking her head. "Wait a second..."

The medical examiner springs to life, all but pouncing on her purse. She sifts through its contents carelessly until her hand closes around that distinct crumpled paper. "Aha!"

Jane's list. The list they were supposed to be laughing about right now over wine and Jane's choice of those awful pretzels or pizza and fudge clusters.

Who needs alcohol and sugar when you have desperation stemming from years of one-sided pining?

She doesn't bother finding a place with suitable lighting, instead she plants herself right there on the dining room floor lit only by the kitchen, and faintly at that. As she smooths out the yellow paper against the floor, she hears the scraping of Bass' shell.

She looks up and narrows her eyes at him, "So _now_ you want to participate?" He moves closer and closer only stopping once his shell bumps into her leg. So _now_ he remembers who used to rescue him when he managed to flip himself over.

"If you think I'm going to read this to you now, you have another thing coming, mister."

He bumps against her leg again as if trying to persuade her, and to her dismay it seems to work. Who ever heard of a persuasive tortoise? Well... any pet of Maura Isles is absolutely exceptional.

"Fine, but only if you eat your cactus pads."

Another bump. She takes it as affirmation.

"Okay," she says squinting to decipher Jane's borderline unreadable script. All evidence of left-handedness apparent as most the words are smeared in correlation with the sliding of her hand.

Bass nudges her again.

"Oh, calm down," she mumbles, monotone words lifting into a light chuckle as she reads the first item on the list, "'Take Maura ice-skating.'"

The tortoise bounces his head against her knee, but she reaches out to stop him from doing it again. "It's okay, boy... What's next?" she tilts her head and strains her eyes in the dim light. "'Learn how to make Ma's gnocchi.'" The next one down, "'Teach Maura how to make Ma's gnocchi.'"

She wonders for a moment why she is in these. Surely there are things _Jane_ should want to do. None of these sound like activities the Jane she knows so well would enjoy, right? Maybe she doesn't know her at all.

 _'Learn how to make ravioli with Maura.'_

 _'Find Jo Friday a brother or sister.'_

Her smile widens as she pictures Jane at an animal shelter absolutely taken with every dog she lays eyes on. Surely Jo would gain at least three new brothers or sisters.

 _'Let Maura show me Paris her way.'_

It seems the more she tries to memorize the inner workings of her best friend, the more lost she finds herself. She's never known this side of Jane.

Her phone buzzes loudly somewhere on the table above her. Slightly startled, she reaches up, feeling blindly through the spilled contents of her purse atop the table.

It's Jane.

"Hello?"

"Hey... you're up."

"I am." Maura glances at Bass, feeling slightly reassured he's still at her side. She rubs the top of his shell, all of the sudden nervous.

"What're you doing?"

"Well," she looks over at her abandoned snack, "I was making a fruit salad."

"Riveting." Sarcastic. Always _so sarcastic_. Can she turn it off? Does she try? Jane clears her throat, "Have you read my list yet."

"Not yet." Technically not a lie. She's _reading_ it. She hasn't quite finished yet.

"Oh, why not?"

"I've been distracted."

"With what? Murdering fruit for your salad pleasures?"

She smiles and leans her shoulder against the leg of the table. Another joke, of course. Nothing's on the line here! Nothing's hanging in the balance! Hey, maybe she's starting to get a handle on sarcasm.

"I guess you could say that."

Maura scans over the next few items of the list, feeling her mood continue to soar high above the trees. Jane's list is so simple. So much more down-to-earth than her own. Little things. Perfect things.

"I read yours."

She freezes and falls straight from the treeline. If Jane read the list... that means... no. Oh, no. One hand tightens around the phone while the other slides from Bass' shell to the ground, earning another bump from the tortoise.

"You did?" she swallows, waiting for it.

 _'Take Maura to a Sox game.'_

"Yeah, I did. What? You thought I wouldn't."

 _'Invest in a English-French dictionary so I'll know what the hell Maura's saying.'_

"I don't know. I suppose I thought it wouldn't matter much," Maura admits, running her thumb over the torn corner of the list. Bass pushes his head into her wrist, but Jane has her undivided attention.

"It does, Maur. It's important to you so it's important to me," Jane laughs. Genuine. Brave. She's the same as ever. Sounds the same. Laughs the same. It's then when she fully realizes that this Jane... this Jane on the phone is the very same one who wrote the list beneath her fingers.

She doesn't know what to say. If Jane has read her list, she _has_ to know. Could she not read the words amidst the mess of white-out and wrinkles? Did she choose to ignore it?

Another glance at the list before her brings her nearly to the end.

 _'Make time for Sunday dinners again.'_

"Crap..." There's shuffling and static on the other end of the line. "I gotta go. Jo's destroying another pillow. I'll see you at seven thirty, alright?"

"Um... Oh! Yes, of course. Seven thirty. I'll be waiting." She smacks her forehead for sounding unreasonably eager. It's moments like these when she wonders how on earth Jane hasn't noticed she hangs on her ever word.

"And Maura?"

"Yes?"

"I love you, too."

Jane hangs up before she can respond, not that she would have come up with a coherent response in time anyway. She's still stuck on the fact that _Jane read her list._ She read it... and... nothing. No earthquakes or meningitis outbreak... The world isn't ending... Jane is still her friend?

She gets to her feet feeling some kind of mixture of confused and relieved. It's pleasant enough. At least the feeling of near plummet has subsided. She carries the list with her into the kitchen to read as she finishes making her salad.

Falling easily back into the pattern and routine of assembling her snack, she wields the knife with quick precision similar to that of a scalpel... Not that the thought's all that appetizing. She takes in a breath to rid the image before returning to the kiwis.

Rather than waiting just minutes longer, she steals a glance at the final item on Jane's list, reading it and returning to her fruit. She manages to get the kiwi into perfect sized wedges before her brain catches up with her.

Wait, she thinks, what did that say?

She rereads the item, knife clattering to the counter top. Keys! She dashes for the table, finally understands what it feels like to be Constance Isles as she nearly topples over Bass.

"Sorry, boy," she mutters as she digs frantically through her purse. By the time she produces the her keys, she's already halfway out the door, heart on fire.

...

Knocking.

More like pounding. Whatever it is, it pulls the detective from that murky state just before sleep. She gets up. Grumpy and tired.

Jo yaps at the door, her little dog-mind unaware that barking this late equals eviction. She nudges the dog away from the door with her foot and checks through the peephole.

Maura.

She should have expected her to demand answers. Should have expected Maura to not be okay with everything on the list. She should have done a lot of things she didn't. Now look where she is.

Maura knocks once more just as Jane pulls the door open. She's in her silk pajamas. The blue-grey ones. Her face is bare of all makeup, her hair twisted up with a claw clip. She's beautiful. She's always beautiful.

And true to the Maura-way, she jumps right and nearly shoves the yellow paper in Jane's face.

"Did you mean it?"

"What?" It's too late... or too _early_ for confrontation. She wonders if Maura ever sleeps. She seems to be _on_ every hour of the day.

"This," she shakes the list, "did you mean it?"

"Oh... yeah, Maur. I did... really."

"You're not just messing with me? This isn't one of your jokes?"

Jane smiles and shakes her head, "No, Maura. I meant every word."

"Good," she says, clearing the corner of her eye before it could spill over, "because so did I."

"You okay?"

Maura nods, smiling through tears she can't seem to stop. Jane guides her into her apartment, locking the door thoroughly- twice- before turning back to the other woman.

"Hey, I'm sorry," she says softly, resting her hand on Maura's cheek. She wipes a tear away with her thumb. "I didn't mean to make you sad."

The blond hugs her arms around the detective and shakes her head, "No... I'm not sad, Jane. I'm happy... I love you."

"Mm, I knew it," Jane whispers, pressing their foreheads together. "I kn-"

Maura tilts her head back and gently presses her lips against Jane's, effectively silencing the brunette's teasing words. But if Jane minds, she doesn't let it show. She pulls the doctor flush against herself, and in their torturous close proximity, she pulls back just a fraction of an inch.

"I love you, too." She worlds barely leave her lips before Maura's are on hers again. Soft and eager and absolutely amazing. Making up for lost time? Hell yeah. Five years of lost time, but as Maura's fingers curl into her t-shirt and lips take on the distinct taste of _finally_ , Jane knows it won't take too long.

The list drops from Maura's hand- doubtful she notices- and flutters back and forth to their feet. Ripped and wrinkled, it still bears the most beautiful words Maura has ever read in all her life.

.

 _'Someday get Maura to marry me.'_

 _..._

 _..._

 _..._


End file.
